Cinderella's Grand Entrance
by FloatingBubbles
Summary: Cinderella was never brightest pumpkin in the pumpkin patch. And now, in just a matter of minutes, she has to deal with doubts, what ifs, birdies, itchy dresses and atrocious footwear. What’s a girl to do?


**Cinderella's Grand Entrance**

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_Oh My Gawd. Oh My Gawd. Oh. My. Gawd. Oh my gawd, oh my gawd. Ohmygawdohmygawdohmygawd! _

Cinderella held her breath, about to step in front of the door. Where everyone could see her.

If Cinderella had been a person inclined to profanity, she would be cursing violently by this point. Luckily, she had never been inclined profanity. The closest she had ever come to swearing was "Gawd".

Let us put this into perspective. Cinderella; maid-of-all-work, non-court-lady-to-the-extreme was about to walk into a ballroom full of dancing couples. Wearing a ball gown. An off-the-shoulders, sky blue, glittery, insanely itchy ball gown. And glass slippers. Shimmery, stunning, princess-like, so-delicate-they-might-crack-if-she-stepped-too-hard glass slippers. Like she needed one more thing to worry about.

Then the doubts began flowing:

_How do I get down the stairs in these shoes? How do I curtsy when I get there? How do I eat an apple in a dainty manner? How does a girl dance in glass slippers?_

Then the "What Ifs":

_What if I trip? What if the prince asks me to dance? What if my stepfamily recognizes me? What if the prince makes a joke and I'm drinking something and I laugh and the drink comes out of my nose? What if I fall in love with the prince and he kisses me? What if I'm a bad kisser? What if my hair gets stuck to my lip gloss (What if I'm not wearing lip gloss?) and he kisses me and then accidentally swallows my hair and then gets indigestion and I get arrested for giving the prince indigestion? Will I get a nice prison cell? Can someone get indigestion from swallowing hair?_

Cinderella almost turned back right then.

But she didn't.

To this day, no one, not even good ol' Cindy herself, knows why she didn't turn back at that point. And no one ever will.

Now, this is supposedly the part where, ahem, "Cinderella courageously tossed back her shoulders, threw all doubt from her mind, and stepped into the large doorframe, head held high as though she was a princess."

In fact, it had nothing whatsoever to do with courage. When Cinderella stepped into the doorframe, her attention was merely drawn to the ceiling at the back of the ballroom for a fraction of a moment, successfully wiping all thought from her gorgeous head.

What was this incredible thing that could so distract a doubtful and beautiful young lady?

As she stepped into the room, Cinderella was gazing into the upper reaches at the back corner at a small red birdie.

As soon as she saw the vibrantly colored foul, all thoughts were overridden with _Oh look! A birdie! _

That was only for a fraction of a second, of course, but Cinderella figured that if she'd started something, she might as well finish it, and she had just spent much to long standing at the top landing and simply _must_ start going, you know, _down_.

So, keeping her birdie-induced perfect posture, Cinderella began her descent into the lion pit…that is, ball.

Scared to look, she listened for the sounds that told of a good party in session. The laughter and chatter of the people's mouths; the soft brushing of their feet against the floor, clad in soft dancing slippers (_none of this glass nonsense_); the clanking of plates…

…None of it. Not a sound to be heard as she glided down the steps. Therefore, in a fit of terror, Cinderella glanced at what sounded like an empty dance floor.

It was, she noticed, far from empty. Dashing men (_Is he wearing tights? __**Tights!**_) stood next to fantastically gowned ladies (_That headdress has beyond too many lumps to be pretty_), But nobody said a word, nor moved an inch.

_They're like a bunch of wax statues. _Cinderella stole another look. _They're like a bunch of wax statues __**all staring at me**__!_

For the rest of the steps down, Cinderella concentrated on keeping back the flow of doubtfulness while not tripping, falling, breaking her shoe, and/or otherwise making a fool of herself/doing anything that involved breaking her neck.

With a sigh of relief, she finally touched the flat, smooth floor and looked up.

And there, standing before her, was Prince Charming. Handsome in white, crowned and all, royal as charged, and looking right at her. He held out his hand to her.

And through all of this, the only thing that Cinderella comprehended was an innate sense of awe and confusion.

_They do this for __**everyone?**_

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A/N: So, there's my very first story! I hope you enjoyed it!

Oh, and, by the way, I disclaim any ownership of Cinderella. Or the Birdie. Or a purple polka-dotted umbrella. Why don't I have a purple polka-spotted umbrella. Not to self: must get a purple polka-spotted umbrella.

Anyway, I've read so much fanfiction by now that it seems like almost a tradition for the author to beg for reviews.

And who am I to break with tradition!?

So, I beg you, review!


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